You Gave Him a Mech?
by bigbluebuttonman
Summary: (Revised according to feedback, including format upgrades). The games we play are their own worlds, a play for employees labeled characters. Among these characters, one has discovered the trailer for the next game in his franchise. He's not very happy about Kirby's new ride. Undeterred by potential consequences, he decided to have a...friendly chat with his boss.
**Disclaimer:** **Nothing in here is owned by me with the exception of any OCs, everything else belongs to Nintendo (and HAL). Hopefully you enjoy the story.**

* * *

Video games are a separate realm.

People take out money from their wallets, eager to buy the new console or game that just came out, unaware of the truth regarding their hobbies. A truth which would horrify them if they ever found out.

In these separate worlds, beings labeled characters take particular roles pertaining to the style of "game" or "play," as the employed generally refer to it as.

They get these jobs through interviews like anyone in the real world, earning a role befitting of their capabilities, yet a role unknowingly sugar coated to encourage quests for employment half the time. Or one never fully revealed, its true nature being hidden away behind thousands of dollars an hour.

Apparatus' allow a particular character to be controlled, following the whims of people desperate for fun. Multiple characters can also be subject to this form of mind control, spicing up the games for players investing interest into any franchise. Some characters are not a baby's toy, gifted by free will to do whatever they want or so you'd think. They too have roles they have to fulfill, whether it be a merchant selling swords, or a giant turtle at the end of a stage, blocking the path to victory for any mustachioed plumbers intent on saving a princess.

Within this assortment of characters, inequality exists as some have it as easier than others do, exemplified by the stereotypical grunt. That enemy of the protagonist and minion of the antagonist which only serves to be killed, becoming a symbol of the game itself due to its prevalence in the game.

Waddle Dee is one of them.

Kirby games have always been a source of enjoyment from the masses, murdering everything in sight as a ball of pink couldn't be more appealing to gamers. The victims vary from blade wielding warriors to clowns all the way to giant bleeding eyeballs and everything you can think of in between. But just like Mario, this franchise has its own goomba.

Waddle Dee is mostly defenseless, just like his more popular counterpart. He's mostly there to provide ammo for Kirby's bare bones form whenever he lacks an ability stolen from those he's killed. And if Kirby is armed with fire, stone, sword, or any other copy ability, he just becomes something whose only purpose is to be brutally stomped on and forgotten.

It's the most extreme role to play, one which only gets worse as new games out, meaning new gimmicks, new abilities, new ways to die horribly. Something has to give at some point when constantly subjected to increasingly worse circumstances.

One of the grunts has. The only thing he wants is change, but there's only one way to get it.

* * *

It was twelve o'clock PM, slab dab in the middle of the night at HAL Laboratory, a cozy, safe, and especially fun work environment for its residents. Bosses were sleeping, Meta Knight was dreaming, Kirby was eating of course, and the creator was chugging down a mug of coffee to keep himself awake.

He was responsible for the creation of Kirby games, managing the employees, collaborating with them in regards to gimmicks, concepts and other integral features for a video game in development.

Creator appeared as a skinny fellow, dressed for work with a blue shirt, red tie and dark brown khakis, smooth and short brown hair the color of his pants topped off his head. Complementing the hair was a small french mustache. He had at one time considered dying it pink.

The caffeine coursed through his veins, creeping up into the sludge of flesh sealed away in his head, starting the blessed process of rejuvenation. The effect of humanity's most popular drug was slightly slow to work, but soon he'd regained what had been lost through the past hours of the day.

It was peaceful aside from the scarcely audible munching and chewing noises piercing the office from the room just below his floor. Kirby's insatiable appetite generally took over his mind in a very pronounced way.

The creator just hoped he wouldn't have to go grocery shopping for the fifth time before the day was over. When Kirby had no food, he'd relentlessly pester everyone at the laboratory until his food stash was sufficiently replenished.

 _Ah, Kirby. You're such an adorable and surprisingly annoying glutton._

Back in the messy compartment, he contemplated which specific type of work to tackle first. Deal with the disgusting amount of emails piling up in his inbox or focus on the remaining sheets requiring laborious amounts of time to fill out? Ultimately, he didn't want to encounter the complications of communication with the workers.

 _Paperwork it is, how absolutely lovely._

It took several hours, but soon he was close to filling out the documents. The dreaded session of work was almost over and soon his dreams would be consumed with beautiful sights of complete and utter silliness, a mish-mash of random that he could always look forward to while snuggling his fluffy pillow. Kirby's face was plastered on it.

A loud knock on his office door behind him prompted a minute jump of surprise. The creator wasn't in a good mood because of the paperwork, so an unexpected visitor who may or may not waste his attention didn't sit well with him as shown by the scowl marked across his face.

"Who's bothering me at this hour? Shouldn't you be asleep? Go away, I don't care about whatever bug's in Kirby Planet Robobot. I'll just get someone to fix it in the morning."

He knew someone didn't care about the silence he treasured at this current hour, he didn't know they lacked any respect for the door which seemed clearly indicated by the explosion that sent it flying past his head, effortlessly ripping through the wall in front of him out to who-knows-where.

The creator jumped again, he'd just endured a near death experience from an unpredictable combustion after all.

He was shaking violently, turning the back of his chair to face the destroyed doorway as his eyes widened in terror, sweat slowly accumulating on his forehead. If the negative reaction was why his door had to suffer, he'd quickly have taken it back to save it and the inevitable money that would be lost to repair his precious doorway.

He looked behind him to assess who the mysteriously rotten assailant was. He least expected Waddle Dee, half his height, sitting in a walker mech with a rocket launcher jutting out behind the portly yet oddly tiny machine he sat in.

The offender hopped off his transportation doubling as a combat vehicle, pushing it behind him and out into a hallway before speeding over to the original spot where he'd been, beaming the person a rageful expression that could have scared the devil himself.

"You gave him…" he whispered.

The words just barely registering into the quivering chair glue staring at him in fear.

Waddle dees stubs for arms began to quiver, his mouth scrunched up as he soon released years of pent up rage in a deafening scream.

"A FLIPPING ROBOT MECH!?"

The walls to the left and right of the vibrating human cracked at the force. Said human was tightly gripping onto his chair to avoid being blown out into a windy torrent escaping through the hole created by the previously speeding door, his inch-long hair sticking out in the direction opposite to the one he was facing before it regained a semblance of the shape it previously had, the wind diminishing in power.

"Wait, is this about the new Kirby game?" The creator asked curiously.

Waddle Dee had discovered the trailer for the game. Once again, he took the role as a victim. He mentally sighed when he heard the news, but then the mech entered the scene.

And Waddle Dee finally broke.

Years of being subject to Kirby's upgrades slowly ebbed away at his mental health, the introduction of a culmination of previous super modes Kirby attained in the past games pushing him over the edge.

"Well, what else could I be talking about? Code Geass? Smash Bros? Super Mario? Of course I'm talking about that little pink psychopath you insist on powering up every game. It's not like his plethora of kill methods wasn't already fat enough." Replied the condescending victim.

He was in no mood for such idiotic questions. He wasn't here to point out the obvious.

"Well, we gotta keep things fresh you know? Kirby's got the number one gaming track record, fans love the thing when he's got more power. Money's kind of important."

Waddle Dee expressed his lack of amusement with a glaring, disappointed look. The line of reasoning presented to him fell incredibly short of his level of intellect.

"Yes, appeasing the fans is clearly worth the mutilation and suffering you've put me through. Pink-Norris downstairs is treated like your damn poodle by everyone on the planet even though he's basically the devil himself." Spat Waddle Dee.

"But dude...you signed up for this job." The creator stated lethargically.

"I signed up for a position where the only thing I did was sit or walk around in a green field all day. Never once during my job interview did you tell me Mr. Puffball's job was to eat everyone in my vicinity. Oh, but that just wasn't enough, was it?" Dee sarcastically inquired. "Nope, you had to give him a freaking mech. A Megaman X, Mario styled mech. Never mind the fact it's compatible with his wretched copy abilities, he can beat your tush to a pulp and crush you just like that mushroom addicted fatso."

"Yeah, he's gotten a little overpowered over the years, but that's not really a problem. Waddle dees have snazzy construction hats now and they're deeply loved in the hearts of gamers all over the world. Isn't that cool?" The creator quizzically asked the ball of rage, hoping to subside his anger.

"Yes, plain ol' attire and a little pat to the back makes up for taking napalm to the face. That's what you think? I've had to put up with a lot of crap. Chopped to pieces, electrocuted, drowned, crushed, impaled, eaten, and beat to a pulp a million times, that's my life right there. For a little dough in the end, eh? Oh, but that wasn't the worst part, oh no," Waddle Dee bitterly stated.

"It was the fact I'm a damn waddle dee!" He shouted loudly at the creator.

It intimidating him slightly. Waddle Dee had to resist the urge to rip off his boss' face, but he knew he couldn't do that. It'd only get him into trouble.

"Do you know what it's like to try and fight murder dot executable when you're the number one defenseless punch bag? It's impossible. Never mind the fact everyone else I ever knew in the killing grounds couldn't be saved because doing so would just get me killed in the process, but I also had to be this franchise's goomba."

Waddle Dee said, tears welling up in his swollen veiny eyes, looking down at the floor while lamenting his position in the gaming industry.

"Meanwhile, one privileged chump gets to have a spear, going around assisting the less powerful equivalent of Majin Buu with his massacre. Something I've had the absolute _pleasure_ of witnessing."

He sniffled a bit before regaining some composure. Years of trauma aren't easy to forget or repress through expressions other than those of negativity, yet he knew the hidden suffering should not be the whole of his argument, now ready to close off with his demand.

"If I have to deal with one more day bathing in Pink-Norris' stomach acid, one more day roasting on the curb, or one more day in psychiatric therapy, then I'll resign. And trust me, the rest of the grunts are just as willing to do so. If I leave, they'll leave too."

The recipient of the demand was both touched yet worried by Waddle Dee's state of mind. On one hand, it saddened him slightly, having now been truly enlightened to his situation. Yet on the other hand, he knew he was in trouble if appropriate measures weren't taken. HAL could lose him, and his statement wasn't the only thing he needed to hear. It wasn't hard to discern the potential financial losses in the future judging simply by the attitude on display. Unless he somehow satisfied Waddle Dee's desires, he'd be losing both him and all the other waddling kill magnets that would subsequently quit as well. That wasn't happening, not on his watch.

"Well, maybe we could arrange a schedule; some days you work, some days you don't? What do you think of that?" He suggested.

It had no effect on the depressing creature standing before him. He just stared at the floor sniffling as if he were a baby who dropped his cone of ice cream into a trash can on accident. A different strategy was necessary.

"Well, since you proclaim to be the greatest victim in video game history, maybe I could give you some more mechs with a lot of health for you and your buds? Um, how about you get to participate once more in the boss battle role, except with real moves unlike that "boss fight" in Super Star's arena?"

Again, nothing phased the living tear duct.

"Actually, tell you what. I'll make you the surprise final boss of the true arena, with a real moveset! And you won't just get a good moveset, you'll get one truly difficult for Kirbz to deal with! Now how in the name of the spaghetti monster could you possibly deny a revenge scenario like that?"

At the sound of that, Waddle Dee's sadness subsided, his expression slowly yet definitely changed to that of a more apathetic one. He was confused, he'd filed several complaints beforehand in futile attempts to be noticed by the higher ups. Nobody ever executed the requests, let alone saw them, so he planned on forcing them to be implemented into the recent installments. Was the creator really planning on appealing to his wishes?

"R-really?" He said through tear stained eyes.

"Yes, really."

This was it. This was the end of it, the constant mental strain would finally lessen. Waddle Dee could look forward to something more than money now. The ass kicking of the one he despised more than a baby killer. Waddle Dee instantly changed from a mopey pile of sorrow to a jumping jack, discharging pure ecstasy.

Once done celebrating his victory, he marched up to the creator, hugging his leg.

"Thank you senpai!" He said.

Ending the ordeal with that, he happily exiting through the destroyed doorway like a giddy child seeking chocolate bars, waddling off to work with a new zeal he'd beforehand wanted dearly. Now he was ready to give Kirby a taste of his medicine down the line. Even if he had to wait a few months.

* * *

The human was, least to say, rather bewildered. He'd just given him hope and that was all he got in terms of compliance with the poor thing's demands? He wasn't looking for a shower of praise, but he was expecting a longer speech than "Thank you senpai" after all the yelling he'd just put up with. And senpai? Seriously? Was Waddle Dee Japanese now all of a sudden? Oh wait…

That was a completely stupid thought he'd just constructed.

Pushing that out of his mind, he decided to try and go back to finishing what he started before the conversation, but he couldn't truly get his mind off what happened.

 _I'll just give him what he wants and go on my merry way-wait, I'm forgetting something here..._

Picking up a phone, he contacted the office responsible for repairs, curious to know how much money would be needed to fix the doorway. The news wasn't good. It would take millions of dollars to replace what was lost.

Placing his hands on his face out of deep frustration, he now knew he'd forgotten it was a luxurious door he'd customized himself when he was conversing with Waddle Dee. There were pictures and diagrams of his prized possession that he could access, mostly stages of its gradual increase in rather meaningless features. Despite its uniqueness, it could be replicated. This encounter may end up taking off money from his budget for the new Kirby game just to replace the door with an exact replica.

 _Thanks Waddle Dee, you've ruined this night and even slowed the development of the game._

Going back to work, he considered what his next actions would be regarding what he had promised. He wasn't actually pondering heavily on it, just what he was actually gonna do in concern of Waddle Dee's interests. On one hand, he could keep his word. On the other hand, he was tempted to unleash his inner troll now that he discovered the financial difficulties involving his coveted office entrance.

Everyone had found out many years ago that he was an expert prankster, nobody messed with him in prank wars lest they intended on losing their dignity. They were gross and disgusting sometimes, though never actually harmful to his employees. Christmas could always get everyone excited, but an upcoming April fools would quite simply electrify him.

It was just before the assigned work was filled out that it hit him.

 _I want to be able to just keep my word. But honestly, actions like this require some sort of consequence on the perpetrator's end. Hmm. Oh, I know!_ The creator thought, mischievousness radiating off of him like the glow of a light bulb.

The creator reached over to the phone next to his computer once more, dialing in Kirby's number before setting it next to his ear.

"Hey Kirby, hate to disturb you, however I've just been thinking of giving you another ability for Kirby Planet Robobot. What kind of ability do you think you'd want added?"

Waddle Dee did mention the various forms of death that he had to endure, the reason for his intrusion in the first place. There was a pause after providing his question, uncertainty arose in the creator's mind. He didn't realize in this moment that Kirby had just chowed down on a plate of burritos two hours ago. Bean burritos. A whopping hundred of them. He was now enjoying the act of waking up employees through terrifyingly stinky means.

 _Is he gonna answer, or will he just return to filling his black hole of a tummy?_

His question was soon met with a shocking, yet delightfully satisfying reply.

 _Yes, yes!_

The ability concept was perfect in accordance with the type of pranks he tended to pull. It was nothing really cruel, but it'd suffice as compensation for the evaluated damages.

He instantly rose from his chair and carried himself over to the team he needed to contact for his idea to be instituted into the game. Once he arrived, all the workers quit any social banter among them. The room immediately had all eyes staring towards him.

"People, I need you to develop a new ability. You might not like it, you might think it's stupid, but this is more for personal gratification, rather than game quality. Though I believe many fans might get fun out of it anyways. So, I'll give you two words as a pretty obvious hint to what I want. But first, guess what they are."

All the answers produced weren't even a little close. Didn't matter. It only meant their reactions would be that much more hilarious.

"Well then, I'll tell you." He paused for dramatic effect.

"Fart. Kirby."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: After getting some feedback, I did some revising and this is the result. Hopefully I fixed the biggest problems the previous version had. I'm more satisfied with it now that's for sure.**


End file.
